The following
letter from James Warhola, Andy Warhol's nephew, appeared in The New York Times on June 8, 2003. It was in response to a review of the book which follows the
letter:

June 8, 2003
Warhol's Nephew

To the Editor:
At first I was so very pleased to see a review of my new children's book, Uncle
Andy's (May 18). Laura Shapiro, the reviewer, perceives the book as the
fond memory that it is of our childhood visits to New York City to see our uncle
Andy Warhol and his mother. Though she is very complimentary, she accuses me
of shading the facts about someone I knew for almost 20 years. My grandmother
did not live in a basement with a few sticks of furniture and drink Scotch all
day long. I guarantee you that she had a lovely garden apartment with beautiful
furniture, and she did not drink! Those comments were grossly inappropriate
and out of place. Shapiro seems to have relied on an unreliable biography.

James Warhola
Tivoli, N.Y.

The review
from the May 18, 2003 review in the New York Times by Laura Shapiro follows:

JAMES WARHOLA grew
up in a famous family, or at least a branch of one: his uncle was Andy Warhol.
As Warhola explains at the beginning of the romp described in Uncle Andy's,
his father was the eldest of three Warhola brothers from Pittsburgh, and Uncle
Andy was the youngest. In 1949 Uncle Andy moved to New York, where he changed
his name and later became one of the originators of the movement known as Pop
Art. James's father, Paul, meanwhile, got married, became a junkman and had
seven children.

It's clear from this
captivating story that James - who became an artist himself, and has illustrated
several children's books - sees himself as the natural product of two environments
linked by, basically, junk. His father's yard, bestrewn with old tires and washing
machines, and his uncle's art, bestrewn with soup cans, both inspired him to
look for art in the unlikeliest places imaginable.

Several times a year
the Warhola family clambered into a rickety old car and drove to New York City
to stay with Andy and Bubba, James's grandmother, for a few days in their big
house uptown. Uncle Andy's is about one of these visits, and Warhola
fixes the date as August 1962. That was the year Andy Warhol's soup cans were
exhibited for the first time, and his public identity was beginning to settle
in around him.

If the glamorous
rising star of Pop had any objections to this sudden invasion from the country
mice, it doesn't show up in Warhola's telling, though some nice nuances filter
through his description of the family's arrival. ''After a long wait, the door
unlatched and slowly opened. Uncle Andy peered out for a minute and then let
out a long 'Ohhhhhh!' Dad always thought it was best not to phone ahead so that
it would be a surprise. It certainly worked. Uncle Andy was always very, very
surprised.'' The picture -- we see the back of a head with flyaway white hair,
and a huge, grinning family on the sidewalk, waving and lugging sleeping bags
- says the rest.

The children have
a great time in the Warhol house, racing from floor to floor, hovering over
Uncle Andy while he paints and once surprising him in bed before he gets his
wig on. They listen to him talking about art with the important people who come
by the studio, and watch him going off to parties. Warhola's witty, energetic
pictures, including one of himself waking up in a room piled high with soup
cartons, give a wonderful child's-eye view of a world that was clearly more
entrancing than Disneyland.

Not surprisingly,
he also shades the facts just a bit. According to one of Andy Warhol's biographers,
Bubba wasn't exactly the classic granny depicted in the pictures here. She lived
in the basement of the house, where she had a cross on the wall, a few sticks
of furniture and countless Siamese cats. Apparently she spent most of the day
drinking Scotch. Nor does Warhola say much about his uncle's night life, understandably
enough. Of course, any enterprising child with a modem can find out a great
deal more about Andy Warhol if he or she wants to. (''Where are you surfing
now, dear?'' ''Art history, Mom.'' ''That's nice.'') But most will probably
be very happy with Warhola's loving take on his kind, zany uncle, and the dizzying
art that inspired a small boy to open his eyes and pick up a paintbrush himself.